Page 114 of The Lucky One
“Hallo?”
My Papa’s voice used to remind me of a bear’s. Now I knew it was only the cigarettes. And he clearly didn’t even have my American number.
“Hi, Papa.”
“Emily. You shouldn’t be calling with your mobile phone from the US. It’s expensive.”
I gritted my teeth. “Why don’t you ever call me then?”
“What?” he said, his voice immediately aggressive. It unlocked a gate inside me.
“Why didn’t you care that your own daughter lived in an apartment covered in mold, with barely any food, wearing shoes with holes in them? Why didn’t you even notice when I came over on weekends? Why did you blame me for leaving your job just to abandon me again? You’re my father! A father I barely even know! What did I do wrong that you could never love me?!”
I had always defended him, saying he didn’t mean to do all those things on purpose—but I couldn’t anymore. He had starved my mother emotionally... and not only her—me too. Making me beg for his attention.
“I thought Richard was your new father,” he said dryly.
“You were like that even before Richard came into the picture,” I retorted.
“Your mother asked for too much! She cheated on me! She left, and then she wanted me to be her bank? Hell no.”
“She asked you to pay for us. Your children. But I should’ve figured that beer is more important to you than anything else.”
Silence. I had rendered him speechless.
There was no point, I realized. Papa wasn’t like the man onstage admitting that he’d made big mistakes. He was still in his bubble, happiest when he had his bottle. Blaming others was all he could do. This man, whoever he was—he wasn’t a father.
“You know what, you’re right,” I said. “This call’s getting too expensive to continue this senseless conversation.”
I hung up the phone and covered my mouth with my hands to quell the sobs that wanted to come out. It was never my fault that he didn’t give me any attention, any love. He just ain’t pretty.
I dialed another number I hadn’t called in years. He immediately picked up.
“Emily? Are you all right?” Richard said.
“Actually...” I breathed in, gathering all the courage I had left. “No, we need to talk.”
Making Amends
Jon
The new apartment was a copy of the old one. Another rotten couch stained with alcohol, another yellowed blanket across the window shielding the room from prying neighbors. Standing in the dim glow of a barely functional bulb, I watched Marna frantically rummage through the bills in the gym bag.
“This isn’t enough,” she said, slamming the bag onto the ground.
“I’m trying to pay back everything you lost. But it takes time,” I said, knowing I had to be careful with my words.
Marna rose from the couch with an unsettling jiggle of her drooping breasts. I kept myself from making a face. She came right up to me, smelling like pot and whiskey, and jabbed her index finger on my chest. “Because of your friend, my brother got arrested. Because of him we lost our place. Because of him we’re down 20K!”
“Damn it, he called an ambulance because I was on the brink of dying, Marna!” I snapped, swiping away her accusatory finger. Marna slapped me across the face.
“You were fine! You were all over me, your dick hard and ready.”
I scoffed. When Paul told me what had happened that day, the memories had come flooding back. Marna giving me stuff I wasn’t familiar with, then taking my fucking clothes off against my will... Paul leaning over me and splashing water over my face, begging me to stay with him...
The next time I saw him I wanted to thank him—and chew him out for making himself a target of our local gang.
“You fucking tried to rape me, Marna,” I growled, this close to slapping her back—but she had the upper hand, and anyway, no matter what I wouldn’t lose my principles.